One Person
by Anubuko
Summary: The Tactician isn't /that/ important. Rekka No Ken/Blazing Sword/Seven.


A/C: Rather dark Tactician-centric fic. K before someone gets political about this with me keep in mind that I am just writing this on a whim and I am referring to the Tactician you become in Fire Emblem 7 Rekka No Ken/Blazing Sword. So erm.. No debates or anything. oO; I'm not sure if there are spoilers but blagh read at your own risk? Not my best work, I know that.

This is also on my deviantart, yes.

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**One person**

1. tactician -tak-tish-uhn- noun. a person who is good at tactics or successful planning

_The tactician isn't /that/ important._

_Without the army, the tactician is nothing more than a strategist. This person cannot defend themselves time and time again; they're usually too busy shouting orders far away from the battlefield to even notice the rogue bullet from behind. Sometimes if one is bold enough, they stay with the fighter most likely to survive so that even with the tactician wailing, they have a good chance of living to see more bloodshed. We, as tacticians have no special skills; strategy is all we know and live with. We breath, eat, and sleep with our tactics. We are often looked down upon for our lack of knowledge in the use of a weapon even though we know every aspect of it, strengths, weaknesses, everything._

_As told, the tactician isn't that strong physically, but we are given an impossible task._

_We bear the burden of someones life and surround them with death. We are given orders, human lives, and we gain the authority to lead them either to the grim reaper, or victory. We can either make or break a hero, regardless of their dreams-- even royalty bows to us at times and enemies tremble at our skill. We are capable of everything and yet we contribute so little. We can even surrender an ally --one who called us friend-- to the enemy and strike them down if we wish. The same can be said for a foe; they can either join the cause we fight for, or they can be swept away by the tactician's... tactics. We do not try for death, but we do what it takes to get those we can to safety._

_The tactician cannot waver in their commands or else a soldier might doubt and break formation-- then fall to their knees all because that person said 'maybe'. Sometimes, the worst monster on the field is the tactician because of a single choice. We decide who lives or dies with a few simple words and silly hand motions after all. On the battlefield, we cannot dwell on our mistakes; each and every army we command is another chance towards doing right. The lives we take become numbers and mere casualties of war in our thick books, earning us contempt. Lonely joins our tactics through snow, mountains, rain, and stone as our popularity soars, forcing us to dig our own shallow graves._

_We do not get close to anyone in the army we are in control of; they may be gone the next minute. Even if we smile there is sadness in our hearts as we know it's impossible to stay if we want to continue to get better. After all, strategy is all we are good with-- that's why we're only called the tactician. If we are lucky in our plans however, no one is hurt and sometimes, love occurs beneath the soldiers. When the real fighting is done and we can breathe once more, we are rewarded with smiles, gratitude, and friendship. We return it all with a simple goodbye. The tactician is not that important because even though we stay long enough to imprint a memory, we do too much damage to be able to make up for it._

_Can't they see the corpses we leave behind? We do not become close, ever. No matter what we feel will save us._

_So we continue until one day someone can tell us it's not our fault. Until someone can tell us that the tactician is just a person given too big a position, and that we are just people. The tactician is not a monster, but the tactician is not exactly a God or Goddess either. The tactician is just human who has seen more than one should be allowed._

_To those who can do more than strategize and actually fight, during a battle, you are envied. Because once a tactician gives the order, death is repeated over and over again-- it is hard to put down the book and replace it with a hoe or weapon without the urge to shout an order. At times, we treat war like a mere game, moving the pieces clumsily as we stumble through, escaping defeat with sacrifice._

_As a tactician, we do not forget any face that we meet in and out of fighting; it's the closest we get to remind us that we are still living and breathing. The tactician... can be a blessing, and both a curse. Most people can be and usually are like that._

_The tactician however, always ends up leaving._

Fingers traced the spine of the book, palm carefully shutting the hundred year old object. Face sad, she sighed as the girl places the book beneath her bag. "The tactician isn't always like this..." She wrapped her arms around her abdomen, feeling a sudden sickness as the reality of it hit her. "They don't always leave... but..." _/War is all I'm good for?/_ A whimper clawed it's way from her throat, burning her tongue as the sob fled her lips. The strategist bit her lip, calming herself down.

"Inesoi?"

She shot up, eyes wide as a brunette opened the flap of her tent, moving his thumb back in an exuberant fashion. "Eliwood's calling for you about tomorrow's plan! ...should I say Lord Eliwood?" She gave a nod, getting up off her knees as she exitted the tent. Dragging herself to the other tent, she paused, turning to look back at the pondering archer who just looked like he had something to say. "... Yes?"

"Oh right! Thanks for today Inesoi, that Shaman would've gotten me today with that second hit if you hadn't told Lyn about him! Rebecca looked pretty freaked out when that Luna spell got my leg-- of course it still hurts but that's better than me actually being dead! I mean, even Rath was kinda disappointed with me being so spacey today on the battlefie--"

"Wil."She moved forward, bringing hands the Pheraen's head, twisting her fists. "Breathe." A sharp inhale was her reply as the tactician's face softened into a smile, eyes tired. "You know what?"

"What--" Wil covered his mouth with both hands as the tactician moved back.

"You get the Orion Bolt tomorrow. You're at your limit and still Rebecca's stronger than you." She turned away, smile widening as the brunette whooped, running off to tell everyone sleeping the great news. Stopping in front of the redhead's tent, she closed her eyes, straightening up. The tactician would always leave because it was their apparent nature. But maybe.. Just maybe...

Maybe she would be one of the many to stay.


End file.
